Le Chemin
by BlacknPotty
Summary: "One day, they'll tell the story of us... and people will say 'they're the lucky ones'."
1. Use Somebody

**Le Chemin**

_"On a parcouru le chemin" _

_–_ _Kyo Ft. Sita_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One – Use Somebody<span>

_You are a surgical intern. You have been admitted to one of the __finest surgical programs__ in the country. You. Can. Do. This._

April gripped her notebook a little tighter, her eyes desperately scrolling through the words engraved on the page. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she shoved the notebook into the pocket of her sweater. She had to get a grip. How could she expect to survive the competitive, cutthroat years ahead if she couldn't even walk through the doors of her new workplace? April peered around the corner of the imposing building – where she was currently taking refuge in a well-placed nook – and saw that no one was currently walking through the sliding doors; a rare occurrence and an opportunity she'd be foolish not to seize. Hastily scrambling to her feet, she gathered her bag and jacket and hurried for the entrance.

"Oof!" In her haste to reach the invitingly empty doorway, April had failed to notice the person who'd been heading in the same direction until it was too late. Her bag went flying as she and her victim tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs amidst gasps of surprise and pain.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," April exclaimed, horror and humiliation staining her cheeks red. She determinedly avoided eye contact as she struggled to free herself and clambered to her feet. "I wasn't looking where I was going, so stupid," she muttered miserably.

"No, it's okay, I wasn't either." The voice was familiar, and April cringed, her back to him, as her brain finally retrieved the name – and the unforgettable face – that matched the voice from her memory. "I'm Jackson."

She could hardly refuse to turn around and shake his hand, not after mowing him down so gracelessly. Reluctantly, clutching her scuffed bag in hand, she turned to face him. _Unbelievable._ Of course she would knock the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on – and her new coworker – down on her very first day at Mercy West Hospital. _Of course._

"Yeah, I know," she blurted, and then hurried to explain as his brows furrowed inquisitively, his head tilting slightly. "No! I mean, yes, I do know, we've met. Well, not really. I mean we have, at the Intern's Dinner? I remember you. Not in a creepy way, just, I have a pretty good memory, but you probably wouldn't remember me," she rambled as he squinted at her, his eyebrows steadily rising. "Not that I'm saying you don't have a good memory, I mean, you probably have to, to become a surgeon, right? All the studying, and all the things you have to remember and all the exams and everything." April inhaled a stuttering breath as he stared at her, an amused tilt at the corner of his lips. She gazed back at him, growing more and more light-headed until her body remembered that she'd pass out if she didn't exhale soon. She expelled her nervous energy in a burst of air as Jackson's smile grew. "So," she said, just to fill the silence, "How about those MCATs?"

* * *

><p><em>"How about those MCATs?" <em>Brad's face was set in an expression of comic disbelief. "You didn't."

"I did," April moaned, burying her face in her hands and shaking her head as if to shake the encounter from her mind. "And then I just ran away, because it was just too mortifying, and he was staring at me like he didn't know whether to laugh or back away slowly with his hands up!"

Brad chortled at the image.

"It's not funny," April protested, "It was just like Bright Pratt all over again, _so_ humiliating!"

"Bright Pratt?"

"Bright Pratt, this guy I went to high school with." April explained as they paid for their coffees and made their way to the elevators.

"Say no more, I can fill in the blanks." Brad reached around April to call the elevator to their floor. "No good comes from a story that starts with 'this guy I went to high school with'."

April sighed despondently as the elevator dinged its arrival. "Exactly. Ugh, what a horrible start to what will undoubtedly be the worst 48 hours of my life."

Brad hummed, commiserating, stepping into the elevator and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"At least I have you," April smiled. "That'll make this slightly less unbearable."

"About that…" Brad withdrew his arm guiltily, avoiding her eyes.

"What?" April stared at him, realization dawning. "No, don't. Don't tell me you chose—"

"I did," he confessed apologetically, "I chose Internal Medicine."

He peeked at April, taking in her dismayed, betrayed expression.

"I'm sorry, April, I told you I was on the fence about surgery, and I figure I should do something I love if I have any hope of getting through residency." April turned away from him, crossing her arms. "Come on, April, we'll still see each other all the time!"

April scoffed. "Oh please, you can't actually believe that. You _know_ that for the next five years, social lives outside of your specialty are a pipe dream. I'll be lucky if I see you five minutes a month! Especially because I'm doing _surgery_! It doesn't get more demanding than that!"

"You said it! Surgery is _soul-consuming_," he emphasized, grasping her arm and turning her to face him. "Every other intern at that dinner, including you," Brad's face was earnest as he struggled to get through to her, "talked about surgery as if it was the be-all and end-all of everything. You live for it, don't you?" He waited until she conceded with a brief nod of her head. "See? So you can get through the spirit-destroying workload and lack of sleep because you can't _imagine _doing anything else!" He gazed at her quietly, lowering his voice as more people piled into the elevator, pushing them against the wall. "It's not the same for me."

April stared at him. She had been so relieved when she'd met him at the Intern's Dinner. She didn't make friends easily. All the other interns had been socializing, while she lurked in a corner, clutching a glass of red wine and furtively eyeing anyone in her vicinity. She'd been staring at a diminutive brunette with long wavy hair talking avidly with two other interns, silently envying the ease with which they interacted, when he'd snuck up on her…

* * *

><p>"You know, you could go <em>talk <em>to them," he said in her ear. April startled, jumping back to avoid the wine that sloshed out of her glass. "Whoops, sorry about that." He reached out to steady her hand.

April flushed, mumbling nonsensically under her breath.

"On second thoughts, maybe you actually _can't_ talk to them?" he teased pointedly, cocking his head. When this failed to draw a reaction, he sighed. "It's really not that hard, here; let me demonstrate." He drew back, straightening and affecting an overly confident air, a smarmy grin adorning his otherwise charming face. "Hello, my name is Bradley Parker, but I go by Brad. I'm kinda-sort-of gatecrashing this do, since I'm actually undecided on whether or not I want to do surgery or internal medicine, but the hors d'oeuvres are far better here, so surgery is looking more and more appealing. I feel I'll fit in well, since I'm as cocky as they come and we all know being arrogant is practically a prerequisite for being a surgeon." April's lips twitched, and Brad's subsequent overreaction drew a few wary glances from the people nearest to them. "She's alive!"

This drew actual laughter out of April. He winked at her. "So, do you have a name?"

"April Kepner. I'm a future surgical intern, of the non-arrogant kind. We're a rare breed."

Brad laughed. "I like you, April Kepner, I like you a lot."

April tried and failed to hide her surprise at his proclamation. "What, is that so hard to believe?"

He stared at her expectantly until she felt compelled to answer – truthfully no less. "I just," she struggled, "I don't find it that easy to make friends," she confessed, taking a huge sip of wine.

"Well, it _is _hard to do when you're standing in a corner all on your lonesome." He nudged her gently.

"I know, it's just—" She glanced at the group of fellow interns. "I don't make a great first impression."

"Well, you're in luck, I do!" He linked his arm through hers as she hurried to transfer her wine glass to her free hand. "It's a new dawn, April, and we are feelin' good!"

"I am definitely _not _feeling good," April muttered as he dragged her towards the trio. They stopped their conversation as the pair reached them.

"Hey, I'm Brad, this is April, what specialty are you guys thinking, hm?" April slowly turned to look at him. This is what he called 'good at first impressions'? April ducked her head as an awkward silence ensued. Finally, the man standing directly opposite April spoke.

"Uh, hey man, nice to meet you. I'm Jackson." April looked up into the most arresting eyes she'd ever seen. He turned to nod at his companions. "That's Reed, and this is Charles." Charles raised his beer in greeting, whilst Reed just lifted a dismissive eyebrow. The last of April's confidence shriveled into nothing. Already she knew she didn't belong. She downed the rest of her wine and began steering Brad away, stammering something about more refreshments.

"Nice to meet you!" Brad called over his shoulder as he was hauled away. "That went well, I think." He laughed at the look she leveled at him, and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Oh, cheer up. So they're jerks. Who cares? You've still got me."

April had smiled. "At least there's that," she'd agreed.

* * *

><p>Coming back to the present, April realized they were once again alone in the elevator. Brad was looking at her earnestly as it fully hit her that she didn't, in fact, have him. It made the prospect of facing the next 48 hours wholly unendurable. Brad studied her. He seemed to read her thoughts.<p>

"April—"

The elevator doors opened. This was his floor; the surgical interns floor was two more up. He moved to leave and then stopped, turning to hold the doors open before looking at her. "You can do this, April. You're a rare breed." He stepped back giving her one last encouraging smile as the doors closed.

She was alone.

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

The lyrics at the top are from a French song. Translated: "We have traveled/covered the path"

The quote in the summary is from "The Story of Us" by Taylor Swift"

The chapter title refers to "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon.

I do not own Grey's Anatomy, or any characters, places you may recognize.

I do not have a posting schedule.

Please review; review if you please. J


	2. I Will Be

Chapter 2 – I Will Be

Jackson rubbed the narrow space between his brows as he stepped into the empty elevator, trying in vain to banish the stress-induced thrumming that had started up as soon as he'd answered the phone. He'd been determined to have a good day, and Jackson could bend most things to his will; even being knocked down outside the hospital – by a disarmingly nervous and rambling intern – had turned in his favour. A beautiful anesthesiologist had seen the collision and rushed to his aid almost as quickly as his endearing assailant had ran away. He was sure she was about to invite him for drinks at the end of his shift when his phone had rang. The anesthesiologist – Laurie – had paused.

"You should get that. You're a doctor now, better practice answering any and all calls," she'd flirted.

Jackson grinned, clicking 'answer' without looking at the caller ID. A mistake he would never make again.

"_Baby!_" Jackson grimaced. The voice was loud enough that Laurie heard her term of endearment.

"Baby?" she mouthed, her eyebrows raised. Jackson opened his mouth to quell the assumption in her expression then paused, quickly debating which would be more favourable; that he had a significant other, or that he was a nearly-26-year-old man with a mother that still referred to him as 'baby'. Jackson closed his mouth and shrugged instead. Laurie's mouth shrunk into a disgusted pout and she sneered at him before storming away.

Scowling in earnest now, Jackson tuned back in to his mother's voice. "Baby, you've made your point, you can get into surgical programs without the Avery name and all it entails, but at what point are you going to stop with this tantrum? We can only hold your spot for so long,' she cajoled.

"Mum, for the last time, this is not _a tantrum_, I am not trying to prove a point, I just don't want to go to Mass Gen." Jackson's eyes followed Laurie as she moved further and further away from him, taking with her all hopes of having a good first shift.

"Nonsense, baby, everyone wants Mass Gen, you'd have to be crazy not to!"

"Well, I guess I'm crazy. It must be hereditary," Jackson grouched.

"There is no need for that, Jackson Avery," his mother admonished, "I am your mother!"

"I am all too aware of that; are you?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" She sounded indignant. Unbelievable.

"It means that it is my _first day_, mum! Most mothers would be calling their children to wish them luck not to equate their career choices to a childish outburst!"

"You are not 'most children', Jackson, you are an Avery—"

"Yeah, I really don't need that speech right now, mum. I'll talk to you later." Jackson hung up.

Now, as he made his way to the intern's lounge, he knew he would regret his hasty action. His mother would make him pay for his rudeness. _Such behaviour, _she'd say_, it's very unbecoming for an Avery. _Jackson's scowl deepened. Just once, he'd like to do something, _be_ something, without considering what the repercussions were on the Avery name. _I will be _great_, and it will have nothing to do with my family name._ His life would have been so much easier if he'd just decided not to become a surgeon, but there was nothing else he'd ever wanted to do. He'd been dreaming of it since he was a child. His first word had been "scalpel" – well, "sca-pa", but everyone had known what he meant.

There was only one person in the intern's lounge when he entered; the jittery intern who'd bowled him over this morning. She was hunched over a notebook, furiously scribbling, and failed to notice his entrance. Jackson grinned; the opportunity was too sweet to pass up. He moved towards her silently, speaking when he was directly behind her.

"Hello, again."

She jumped so violently; her notebook flew out of her hands, spinning towards the ceiling. With the practiced ease of an athlete, Jackson plucked it out of the air, his eyes on her flushed face. She looked with quiet horror from his eyes to the notebook in his hands.

"H-hi," she said breathlessly. "Can I have my notebook back?"

"Why," he teased, "got some cool surgery cheats in here?" He mimed opening the small book and she dived towards him. Surprised, he was slow to react, and she managed to wrench it out of his grip. He stared at her. Unbelievably, her face grew even redder. "I was kidding," he said, slowly. "Well, kind of. I mean, we _are_ the early birds. I figure, like me, you want to have every edge you can get, right?"

She regarded him warily.

Jackson persevered. "Plus, I mean, you kind of steamrollered me rushing in here, so I figure you're pretty eager."

This, at last, produced a reaction. "I am _so, so sorry _about that. I was—"

Jackson waved her off before she could launch into another long-winded apology. "It's fine, seriously. But you kind of high-tailed it away from me before I could get your name?"

She smiled embarrassedly. "I'm April. April Kepner. And I was right!" She grinned at his confused expression. "You _don't _remember me." She looked far too pleased to have been forgotten.

He smiled knowingly. "I was right, too." She cocked her head, nonplussed, as he deposited his bag in the locker next to hers. "You _do _like to have every edge you can get."

She grinned in concession.

The door burst open, and April started.

Jackson turned as his name was called. Charles Percy walked towards him, extending his curled hand in Jackson's direction; Jackson obligingly bumped the proffered fist with his own.

"First freaking day," Charles gushed. "Can you believe this?" He shoved his jacket into the locker on the other side of Jackson's.

Jackson grinned indulgently.

Charles looked around Jackson, catching sight of April's red hair. "Hey, I know you!" April started, looking around as if to confirm he was talking to her.

"Er, you do?"

"Yeah, from the Intern's Dinner." He nodded as he began pulling off his shoes. "You came up to us with that really hyper dude." He directed his eyes towards the ceiling. "June, no. January… no. April! You're April."

Jackson felt slightly ashamed that he hadn't remembered her, as April flushed in surprised pleasure. "Um, yeah. And you're Charles, right?" He nodded goofily. The lounge was slowly filling with more interns. Jackson felt he was slowly losing control of the situation. He interjected quickly.

"So how does this work? How do we find out what resident we have, where do we get our scrubs?" He looked between Charles and April. They stared back blankly.

In answer the door swung open once more, and five people in orange scrubs walked in. The residents.

One of them, a tall blonde woman with a severe expression, stepped forward. "Welcome to Mercy West, and the beginning of what will be a demanding and gruelling residency. I'm Dr. Nielsen, your Chief Resident. This is one of the top surgical programs in the country. Interns here benefit under the tutelage of several world-class surgeons, and our Chief of Surgery, Dr. Augustus London—" here she paused to acknowledge the excited gasps of recognition, "has been nominated for the Harper Avery award three times. I don't need to tell you that he's won it. Twice." Jackson forced himself not to react. "I tell you this so you know that the next five years will be the hardest of your life. They will also be the most rewarding. The majority of you will not have what it takes. Most likely, only two of you will survive residency. Every second, every decision you make from here on will determine who those people are." She turned to the resident at her side, a non-descript, gangly man, who hurried to hand her a pile of silver scrubs.

She dropped them on the bench in front of her. "Interns wear silver. It's so we can know who exactly is at the bottom of the surgical food chain without having to know who you are. Nobody _cares_ who you are." Her eyes lingered on Jackson for a fraction of a second. He stared back stoically.

She stepped back. "I'll call your names and tell you which resident you're assigned to. Change into your scrubs and meet them outside. Residents, if you'll indicate who you are when I call your group of interns."

They nodded their understanding.

"Carnelley! Mctough! Harp! Ross! Svenson! You're with Dr. Whiskard." A handsome man with a decidedly British air raised his hand. Two of the girls to whom he'd been assigned exchanged pleased glances.

"Adamson! Avery! Kepner! Percy! Stone! You're with Dr. Timothy." The tall, gangly resident who'd handed Nielsen the scrubs raised his hand.

"Oh, great," said a voice from just behind Jackson. "We've got the dud."

Jackson smiled in recognition as he drowned out Nielsen's voice. "Reed, hey!"

She nodded at him and Charles, who asked, "How'd you know he's the dud?"

She scoffed. "Because he was acting like her lackey? I mean, honestly. It's a wonder he's standing, what with the absence of a spine." She rolled her eyes.

"Maybe he's just nice?" Jackson looked towards April's voice. She blushed as Reed shot her a disdainful look.

"Nice? Like I said, the dud. Nice doesn't cut it in this program."

"So who's Stone?" Charles tried valiantly to glaze over the tense atmosphere. "The last of our cozy little troop?"

"Here." An Asian American with his face buried in a medical book raised his hand, his first finger held up to halt any further conversation. He finished his sentence before looking up. "Marshall Stone. Nice to meet you." Jackson looked at him, unimpressed, as Charles said,

"Nice to meet you, too, man. I'm Charles, and this is Jackson, Reed and April. We've all got Timothy." He grinned at each of them in turn.

"Whatever," Reed said, turning to grab a set of scrubs. They each followed suit, changing before going out to meet Timothy.

Day one had officially begun. Greatness beckoned.

* * *

><p>Author's note:<p>

The chapter title refers to "I Will Be" by Avril Lavigne/Leona Lewis.

Dr. Timothy's interns do not belong to me, nor does Mama Avery. Every other person mentioned does.

The interns are wearing silver scrubs because in S06E02, Hank Mckee, an intern working with Callie, is wearing silver scrubs. I thought this would be a nice way to tie it in.

Yes, April has red hair. I am not rewriting the way it was shown, but in my story, April is a natural redhead (as her sisters and dad on the show seem to confirm). I have an authentic and plausible way of explaining the hair disparity. Bear with me.

The structure of the story will be roughly 10 chapters per residency year. So, as the merger happens at the beginning of their third year, they won't be at Seattle Grace until chapter 25. But don't worry, I have plenty planned out between here and there.

Grey's' timeline is the worst thing about it, but I spent hours sorting through it, and have found a way to match it up, all the way to April's wedding. You get confused at any point, just PM me and I'll send you my timeline! (Their first day happens on June 1st 2007, a month before MAGIC's first day at SG)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, including "guest"! It means so much!

riian: je vais essayer! Merci beaucoup ma cherie! bisous

_Next chapter:_

_April is trooping through her first shift, we meet the Mercy Wester's Dr. Bailey – Dr. Ezra Timothy – who is no-Nazi, and the competition – and tensions – heat up within PAAKS._


	3. Battlefield

Chapter 3 – Battlefield

April tried to ignore Reed's contemptuous stare – the recipient of which seemed to alternate between Dr. Timothy and herself – as they huddled in around their assigned resident. They stood in silence as he waited patiently for the hordes of interns that were spilling out the door to pass by.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Hello. I'm Dr. Ezra Timothy. I'm a fourth year resident." He seemed to flounder, not sure what else to say. Reed caught Charles' eye and mouthed "dud". April felt her dislike for the petite woman grow. "I know you must be very excited – and nervous – about this shift; if you have any worries, any questions, please feel free to ask me."

He proceeded to impart the relevant information: his pager number, how code calls worked, where the OR's were located as well as the resident's lounge, all whilst giving them the tour. Charles seemed particularly eager to memorise the location of each on-call room. April had no intention of sleeping on her very first shift; she couldn't afford to waste a second. She snapped back to attention, silently chastising herself for losing focus so quickly; Timothy was saying something important.

"… your very first medical mystery. Dr. Kent has requested our help on this case. The diagnosis is proving difficult. Who wants to present first?" Each of their hands shot into the air, and he handed a chart to Reed, who enthusiastically ripped it open, her eyes skimming through the information as they walked into room 3285.

Reed cleared her throat. "Ben Miller, 34, presenting with persistent migraine headaches, of varying severity. CT and MRI scans revealed nothing; he underwent an exploration of the extra- and intracranial blood vessels, also to no avail. We've been unable to isolate the trigger behind the headaches." She paused. "And he's, uh, been cleared by psych."

The patient chuckled. "Yep, I'm one hundred percent sane. Well, for now. Any more of these headaches, and who knows what'll happen."

April grinned at him. He smiled at them, before doubling over, cradling his head in his hands. Dr. Timothy sprang into action. "Get me 100cc's of Sumatriptan, now." The nurse expertly did as he asked. Timothy glanced at the shuffling interns, each craning their heads towards the patient. "Kepner!"

April started. "Yes, sir?"

"Come here, you'll administer the dose." April hurried forward, nervous and excited. "Feel for his vein, yes, just like that, don't panic. It's better to take your time and get it right, than make a mistake because you're rushing. Try not to think too much about what you're doing." April took a deep breath as she lined the injection up and slowly slid it in. "Can you tell me why we're using Sumatriptan?"

"Sumatriptan is a selective serotonin receptor agonist, it specifically counters headaches that result in nausea and sensitivity to sound and light. It targets the blood vessels in the brain, narrowing them and hence, stopping pain signals from being sent to the brain," April recited as she successfully administered the injection. Ben Miller's body relaxed.

"Very good, Dr. Kepner." April felt a thrill at being referred to as a doctor, her face flushing with pleasure at the praise. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to being addressed as such. "And why don't we just send Mr. Miller home with a Sumatriptan auto-injection device?"

"Because Sumatriptan doesn't treat the problem, it treats the symptoms; it is not a preventative solution." It was Marshall Stone who answered. "It's also not manufactured for routine use. The side effects of overuse include muscle cramps, vomiting, severe drowsiness and chest pains."

"Excellent," Dr. Timothy nodded. "We should let Mr. Miller get some sleep." He nodded at the patient as they filed out.

"Okay," Timothy began, "So, any ideas?" They stared back, at a loss. "Hm, interns straight out of med school, you're all very accustomed to a reward system, yes?" The question appeared to be rhetorical, so they waited in silence. "Okay then, the intern that comes up with a correct diagnosis of this patient will get to scrub in with Dr. Kent and myself on a surgery." Each of the interns' backs straightened perceptibly at this. April was nearly quivering in excitement. Scrubbing in on a surgery on their very first day? It was a dream come true. "That's not all. That intern will get to make the first cut." April gasped. Marshall teetered on the spot swaying from side to side before he regained control of himself. "The offer expires at the end of your 48 hour shift."

They each moved as if to head off in search of the coveted miracle diagnosis, but Timothy stopped them. "You've still got rounds," he reminded them. "When, and only when you're done with them can you start looking." He pointed towards five stacks of charts at the nurse's station. "Get to it. Page me if you're unsure about something. These are actual people we're looking after. Do not put your arrogance or eagerness to learn before them. If I find out one of you was sloppy during rounds because you were eager to solve the Miller case, that person won't step foot in an OR for a _very _long time. Understand?" They nodded. "Good." He strode away.

Charles whistled. "So, yeah, I don't think _he's _anyone's bitch-boy."

Marshall looked after Timothy's disappearing figure, awed. "He's gonna let one of us _cut_? On our first day?"

April turned to look at Reed. "You were saying?"

Reed scowled.

* * *

><p>April waved goodbye to Mrs. Burroughs, a kindly old lady who was the last patient on her rounds. She handed the chart to the nurse behind the counter. "Mrs. Burroughs will need her central line changed later this evening," she said. The nurse nodded.<p>

April glanced at her watch; it was barely one o'clock. She decided she'd eat lunch now, and then spend the rest of her day solving Ben Miller's mystery migraines uninterrupted. When she got to the cafeteria, she realized she wasn't the only person to have had that thought: Jackson and Charles were sitting at a table, with an alarming amount of food piled between them. Perusing the dishes offered, April decided to forgo the suspiciously watery pasta in favour of an apple, an orange juice-box and a tuna sandwich. Charles caught her eye and waved her over.

"Hey, April!" He grinned at her. "How were your rounds?"

"They were all right," she said, placing the tray on the table and sliding into the seat between them. "You got enough food there?"

"Barely," Jackson replied around his straw. April laughed, shaking her head.

"I don't know how you can eat. I've done about 50 rectal exams in the last hour." Reed walked up to the table, dropping into the seat across from April. "I may never eat again."

Charles exaggeratedly stuffed a gigantic spoonful of chocolate mousse into his mouth and Reed cringed away, gathering her long hair into a haphazard ponytail.

"So, what's with migraine-Miller? Any ideas?" April, Reed and Jackson stared at Charles. Jackson swallowed his large mouthful to respond.

"Did you not hear what Timothy said? Only one of us ends up in that OR, makes that first cut. Why on earth would we share any of our ideas with our competition?"

Charles shrugged sheepishly. "Sharing is caring?"

Jackson snorted. "I'll share my Swiss roll with you, man, not once-in-a-lifetime opportunities."

"I _care_ about getting into that OR today." Reed said, high-fiving Jackson.

Charles looked hopefully to April. She shrugged. "Sorry, Charles, I'm with them on this one."

Reed shot her an appraising look, before turning to Charles. "What did I say about 'nice'?" She drew her thumb across her neck to emphasize her point. "You have to be cutthroat, or get your throat cut. We're not in med school anymore, Percy! Remember what Nielsen said? Every second, every decision!"

At these words, April glanced around the room, frowning.

"What?" April looked at Jackson. His eyebrows were raised. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's just… have any of you guys seen Marshall? Since before rounds?"

There was a silence as they all stared at each other.

"Sonofabit—"

They exploded into action, sprinting from the cafeteria towards room 3285.

"You mean he didn't even stop for lunch? Clever _asshole_." Jackson scowled as they hurried towards the patient's room.

Reed was practically spitting. "See what I mean? Cut. Throat!"

They barged through the door of Ben Miller's room. Marshall was sitting by the patient's bed. It was clear he had been exposing Miller to different stimuli, hoping to trigger a migraine. He smirked at them.

"Hey guys. Had a good lunch?"

Reed was nearly vibrating in indignation. April, meanwhile, was taking stock of the various instruments Marshall had discarded; a torch, an audio device, several books and types of food. Clearly, as Marshall was still here, none of those were the trigger. April crossed them off her list of possible causes. April caught Jackson surveying the items as well, muttering under his breath. She caught his eye and grinned; they had obviously come to the same conclusion.

At that moment, Ben Miller, who had been fine prior to their entrance, suddenly began to rock back and forth with pain, clutching his head and moaning.

Dr. Timothy appeared from behind them as if he had been lurking around the corner, waiting. He ushered the interns out as the nurses hurried in behind him. Marshall was nearly apoplectic with rage. "Thanks for that," he hissed. "You contaminated my control, now I have no idea what caused the migraine! Brilliant!"

"You mean you skipped lunch and are still _no further_ ahead than we are?" Jackson widened his eyes innocently. "That _does_ suck."

April hid her smile as Reed and Charles snorted with laughter. Marshall's mouth twisted bitterly as he stormed away.

"Well, that was fun, but it's time to get serious." Jackson slid his hands into his pockets. "Library?"

They nodded their acquiescence.

* * *

><p>"You noticed, too." April jerked, the book she was reaching for tumbling off the shelf as she turned to face Jackson.<p>

"Would you _stop_ doing that?" She whispered.

He grinned slyly. "You make it so fun." She shot him a mockingly disparaging look.

"What," she said, bending to retrieve the fallen book, "did I notice, exactly?"

It was his turn to level her with a reproachful stare.

"Oh, all right, I noticed," she admitted. "The migraines aren't activated by any auditory or photosensitive stimuli, which means it's almost certainly not neurological." April spoke in hushed tones. "Which is a shame, really because I think neuro is just so fascinating." She shook her head as Jackson's lips twitched in amusement. "Anyway," she continued, "that explains why the CT didn't show anything, nor did the intracranial exploration. It's not in his brain. It's not a digestive problem either; he didn't react to the food Marshall was stuffing down his throat. But what the hell could cause them, then?"

Jackson reached around her to pluck a book off the shelf above her head. "No idea. But, hey, at least this narrows the competition down." April narrowed her eyes inquisitively. "Charles and Reed are still searching for neurological explanations, and Marshall is probably eating his feelings right now." April giggled. He grinned down at her.

"Looks like it's between me and you," April determined, raising her head in challenge.

Jackson nodded, smiling. "Me and you."

Game on.

* * *

><p>Author's note:<p>

The chapter title refers to "Battlefield" by Jordin Sparks

Sumatriptan is a real drug, however; its effects are not immediate. That's my creative license acting up.

I'm gonna be weaving in a lot of what I call 'future throwbacks' to things that have happened in the show. In this chapter, it's obviously the "Me and you" Japril moment. So, let's play a game. Whenever there is a 'future throwback' (FTB) in a chapter, I'll let you know and the first person to find and let me know in a review will get an excerpt of the following chapter! The silver scrubs from chapter 2 were sort of a FTB, but they weren't Japril related so I didn't count them

So, will it be Jackson or April? Or will Charles, Reed and Marshall get back in the game?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Please do, it motivates me to write more!

The working week starts tomorrow, so I don't know how long I'll be able to keep churning out chapters every day, but I'll do my utmost to do at least one every couple of days!

_Next chapter:_

_Jackson is determined to be the winning intern, and competition with April seems to bring out the best in him. Plus, he thinks he has a lead that she unknowingly may have just confirmed for him…_

After chapter 4, we skip forward a couple of months!


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